


no speak americano

by ghostbusters



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbusters/pseuds/ghostbusters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean first came to Rome, he fell swiftly into a pattern of one distraction after another, night after night at these useless parties. But Armin could change all that. He's dancing on a table, drink sloshing around in his glass, the first time Jean's eyes land on him. (modern AU, loosely inspired by the film 'La Grande Bellezza')</p>
            </blockquote>





	no speak americano

**Author's Note:**

> hover over the italian for translations. i don't speak the language well yet so i'm sorry if anything is glaringly wrong! this story is pure sap sssshhh. it's a little weird and pretentious, but so is 'la grande bellezza'

He's dancing on a table, drink sloshing around in his glass, the first time Jean's eyes land on him. That boy is _life_. 

The crowd is thick and the air is hot with the sweet aroma of flowers from the gardens surrounding the hotel, almost nauseating in combination with the constantly flowing liquor. The beat of the music is strong, causing the floor to vibrate with the feel of both heavy bass and the jumping, stomping feet of drunken dancers on this summer night. The stars were out but Jean's vision grew cloudier ever since his fourth vodka tonic and whatever that awful pink concoction a girl with heavy makeup thrust into his hand. The crowd surges around him, the girl is long gone.

Italy has so far been a haze with one sleepy, useless distraction after another. Jean may have found a distraction vivid and striking enough to finally wake him up. Blue eyes pass over him and wink before their owner twirls again and hands his spilling glass off to a woman lingering nearby. This boy is alive, unique above the crowd acting almost as one thriving mass on the dance floor. He shines in the night.

That hazy, cloudiness clears as Jean stares at the blonde spinning and dancing above portions of the crowd. There are tables occupied everywhere and many have also climbed onto the stage in the hopes of being in the spotlight. It was working, at least for this boy. He had to be around Jean's age, standing out with glimmering youth among the majority of midlife wannabes with cheap suits and old socialites in clingy, metallic dresses, gaudy jewelry clanking with every sway of their hips.

Jean passes off his half downed glass to some willing divorcee gyrating obscenely next to him and walks in a daze towards that hypnotizing sight on the table. He stares up at the golden haired boy who is smiling with a sort of light rivaling the neon of the hotel sign. He's laughing as he mouths the words to the song, tossing his head back and swaying down, down, down as the instrumental flurry kicks in again. At this point his motions have put him only heads above Jean, who is standing like a fool transfixed in front of the table.

Their eyes lock again and Jean sees the glint of intrigue flash across the boy's face. He hops down from his impromptu stage and throws himself harshly against Jean, shouting the next line of the song to the night sky as he drags his new dance partner into the throng of intoxicated dancers. The feel of this boy in Jean's arms is sudden but not unwelcome. It's what he wanted. Jean almost feels frozen from the contact. Almost, but this boy is too warm, too full of energy and life to let Jean bring the party to a stand still like an unwelcome iceberg on the horizon. They melt into each other and search for a rhythm to share. The beat leads them to a compromise.

“What's your name?” Jean doesn't know why this question is so important, but he breathlessly asks it as the music slows briefly during a change. Does this guy even speak basic English? He hopes, he prays that he does. Heaven must be listening, as the boy of golden light answers.

“ _Armin._ But no talk. Dance with me.”

A train of dancers doing some warped version of the conga weave through the crowd and knock the boys further against each other. Armin laughs at how Jean freezes in place as he watches the train file by. Armin guides Jean's focus back to him, a finger light against his chin.

“You. Look at _me_. Those trains never go anywhere. You dance with me?  Per favore?"

Jean nods slowly and attempts to tell the boy his name, but doesn't get a chance because the music grows louder and the people scream more. The beat is heavier and Armin spins in Jean's slack arms with new excitement. He grabs Jean's newly sweaty hands and places them on his slim hips. He leans back against the slightly taller boy and sways his hips to the beat of the song, guiding Jean to follow his lead. His arms wind up to tangle around the other's neck as he dances and grinds back against his new partner. Jean is red in the face and getting lightheaded from both the contact and the effects of his drinks.

Armin hums happily when Jean finally picks up the pace and loses himself in the song and the foreign words of the chorus. He breathes in the scent of expensive cologne on Armin's neck and boldly nips at the pale skin exposed to him, drunk on more than the free liquor. Armin's breath hitches and he smiles wickedly to himself. He's eager to respond now that Jean has made a move to join the games he's been playing. Armin wasn't stupid. He'd seen the way Jean had been eyeing him from across the dance floor and he'd watched the guy stumble his way to his table.

The heat continued to build and they need to go somewhere. The air was too thick, too sickly sweet. Armin stops dancing.

Jean runs his hands lightly over Armin's sides and smooths his palms across the well-tailored suit the other is wearing. He feels under dressed in his cheap white shirt and flimsy vest, but he ignores all this as Armin spins around to grab his hands and lead him away form the thrashing mass of bodies and flashing lights around the stage. They are almost to the lift off to the side when a loud voice calls Armin's name with immediacy.

 _“ Mannaggia,”_ He curses and ducks out of the arm around him. “You, wait.”

Jean stands near the roof's edge as Armin darts back to argue with an older man. He watches them exchange words rapidly with gesturing hands looking as if they are trying to conjure an understanding from thin air, because whatever is being said between the two doesn't seem agreeable. Armin storms away but grins as he approaches Jean. The man has slipped back into the crowd.

“Everything alright?” Jean asks as Armin takes his hand and leads him to the lift finally, closing the gates and flicking at buttons as they step inside.

“Not a worry. My grandfather. His birthday party, but I do not care.” He leans forward to cup Jean's warming cheeks. “I am going with you now. On an adventure, il mio amico.”

Jean's breath catches in his throat yet again in this boy's presence. He runs a hand hesitantly up Armin's neck and they just stay still there, eyes focused on each other as they descend to the ground floor. Jean's eyes break away for a split second to catch his own reflection in the mirrored walls that surround them. His sandy hair is sticking up in all directions from where Armin ran his hands through it in the heat of the moment on the dance floor. Jean can't hear or feel the music anymore. It is quiet. They are completely alone, only their own faces reflected around them from every angle of that small room.

The lift doors open and break the two from their moment. Armin darts out onto the sidewalk with a confidence in his newly planned adventure.

“Come. I have keys. I want to show you something.”

Jean can't wait. He can't hesitate anymore because this boy has him under a spell and he needs to do something about it before he loses his mind. Jean grabs Armin by the wrist and pulls him forward, backing them both up against a wall. Jean almost falls over, alcohol still swirling in his system, and braces himself against the wall of the hotel. Armin slumps against him and his eyes brighten and then fall closed in understanding of the unsure expression on Jean's face.

“My name is Jean, by the way. In case you were wondering.” Armin smiles wide at that and places those expressive hands on the other's face to bring them close. He lets out a quiet little laugh at Jean's shaky hand sliding up his side.

Their lips finally meet in a crashing force, teeth knocking together with the urgency of it all. Armin leans up on his toes to bridge the difference in their height, his head sliding roughly against the wall of the building as his hands wind through the other's hair, messing it up even further. Jean can barely breathe as those soft lips stay firmly planted on his own, parted just enough to tease with the promise of more. Armin laughs to himself, licking his reddened lips once they finally part, just slightly enough to set Jean newly on fire. “Hmm. Your kiss...”

“What? What about it? Was I too rough? I'm sorry-” He briefly panics. He's never been the most suave guy so he worries.

“No, no. You're being silly. It makes me drunk even more.” Armin brushes his small, delicate fingers across Jean's jaw. “Perfecto. You are perfecto.”

Jean wants to grab that caressing hand and pull the boy back in for more and _more_ but Armin has moved away, beckoning him to follow. He still has something to show Jean and he is eager to put as much distance from that hotel party as he can. The air is breezy but warm and they walk briskly to where ever it is Armin is headed. He chatters away about the sights of his city, strutting down the street like he owns the world. Jean thinks that he probably could if he wanted.

They pass through mostly empty streets, only encountering the stray drunken wanderer or shadowy figure lurking alone in an alleyway. The path they take is bright with the light of streetlamps and hotel marquees. Rome is beautiful even at night, but the sights and faces they pass are all a blur to Jean. He focuses only on the back of the head leading him forwards to a section off the path of touristry and big, loud, flashy hotels. The buildings are older, all stone and intricate architecture. Armin slows his stride and nudges Jean in the shoulder. He points to the mansion-like structure to their right. To Jean, it could very well be a castle, for all he knows.

A key is drawn from Armin's pocket, one of a few old keys dangling together on a ring. He unlocks the tall, iron gate and pulls Jean inside. He lets out a loud laugh and runs across the lawn and up the worn marble steps of the old mansion, carefree with abandoned concern for composure.

The two boys wander through dimly lit halls, some only brightened by candlelight. Masterful oil paintings and pristine marble statues line the walls and their footsteps lightly echo through the hallways. Jean is amazed, speechless at the beauty that surrounds him. He feels a shiver run through him as the boy leading him through the sprawling corridors turns coyly over his shoulder to smile softly at him, rising his eyebrows with an expression of genuine delight. Armin hopes that Jean is impressed.

They pass quietly through another room and Jean is startled to find a group of older women sitting around a table in the candlelight, smoke trailing from their long cigarettes, silent but for the tinkling sound of their dripping jewels and the soft slide of cards on the table.

“Buonasera, principesse. Godere il vostro gioco di carte?”

The woman facing their direction tips her cards towards the boys and smiles, muttering a reply from around her cigarette. “Proseguire, giovane Armin.”

He listens and continues onwards through the seemingly never-ending labyrinth of art filled rooms and vaulted ceilings. Jean is confused but his cares have fallen away, left behind on the dance floor an hour or so earlier. He doesn't even believe in himself on an average day, but he trusts this boy. He follows without hesitation as Armin takes his hand to climb a set of stairs in the corner of a room surrounded by delicately sculpted busts.

“Hey, where are we? If you don't mind me asking.”

“Oh, yes. Scuse mi silenzio. Often I forget to speak in this place. I own it. Well. _Grandfather_ owns it.  Uno dei molti belle case. It is nice, yes?”

“Yeah, impressive.”

“It is too much for one, so I share.” Armin stops once they reach the top of the stairs and kisses Jean softly, taking the other for surprise. Jean leans into him and returns the kiss, grateful for contact with this enamoring boy once again after so long between touches. “I am glad I can share it with you,” Armin whispers against Jean's lips.

Jean groans when Armin pulls away and continues on their relentless journey. They are closer together now, as Armin has wrapped an arm around Jean's waist and stays close as they wander in the darkness of the higher floors, lit by the moon peeking through large windows. The halls are smaller now, lined by heavy looking wood doors and mirrors reflecting the dim chandeliers above. Armin digs in another pocket for a smaller looking key and and unlocks one of the doors. The room is large, but cluttered with the trappings of a modern inhabitant full of life and not static, unmoving sculptures. There is life present here.

They crash together as soon as the door is closed with a click and the key is dropped onto a pile of clothing, discarded and forgotten. Jean stumbles backward from the force that Armin has knocked into him, latching on and relaxing in Jean's shaky arms. With something resembling luck, they manage to fall onto the large bed and begin tearing at each other's clothes like they are trying to outrun the end of the world.

Jean barely knows anything about this boy. He knows he has to come from money _obviously_ , by the state of the building they are in. He is gorgeous and mysterious, but not as confident as before now that clothing has been removed as they lay bare to each other on the bed. Jean hovers over Armin, panting heavily as Armin curls slightly into himself with a blush visible even with minimal lighting. Jean lowers his body to cover Armin, kissing at the flushed, full cheeks of the smaller boy underneath him.

“I don't do this often,” Armin admits, voice small but still too loud in the silence of his room.

“Do what? Take weird American boys home from your grandfather's parties?” Jean jokes and kisses softly at Armin's neck, trying to comfort the suddenly shy boy.

Armin gasps and relaxes to roll fully onto his back. He slips his quick fingers into the prickly short hair on Jean's neck and brings the other's face closer to his, just breathing softly as they linger inches from each other. He hasn't felt truly alive in a long time, replacing adventure with wild nights on top of that damned hotel, but he feels something when he looks into Jean's waiting eyes. He's fine now. Maybe this will be how he escapes.

Jean is about to say something to break the silence but Armin kisses the words from his mouth, small noises slipping from both of them as their bodies fully connect and begin to rock together. Armin manages to guide Jean onto his back. He never takes control in situations like this but he wants it now. He wants to continue this streak of confidence he's found tonight.

He slides down Jean's body, mouthing down his neck and chest and lingering as he admires the boy's toned stomach, jealous when thinking of his own soft skin and shorter limbs. Jean trembles as Armin kisses and bites his thighs and gently strokes his cock. He tries to hold back embarrassingly loud moans, but he can't help it for long. It's been awhile since he's done anything like this. He came to Europe to run away from heartbreak, a student who found himself with too much time on his hands. It's finally been long enough that he can honestly lose himself with someone new. Someone like Armin.

Armin's mouth is hot and persistent as he sucks, gentle at first and harder as Jean grips at his long hair. He revels in the feeling. It's not too hard, but enough for him to feel it every time he lowers himself down and down again, nose brushing against coarse hair as he swallows. He still feels a little self conscious with his back arched and his own saliva sliding down his chin, but Jean's eyes are clenched shut and he seems too far gone to judge anyway. Every sensation is overwhelming. Jean shudders as Armin swirls his tongue before pulling away.

He squints his eyes in the dark and feels bold. Very bold. He leans down again and kisses the inside of the thighs splayed on either side of his face, as close as he can get without overstepping his bounds. He smirks proudly at the whimpers from above, even as his face burns embarrassed and hot from the intimacy of it all. Jean's arm is thrown across his face and he bits his own lip, still desperately trying to shut himself up. He feels utterly pathetic as he teeters on the edge of falling apart. Armin is stealing all of his control which, to be honest, he lost the very moment he approached that table.

“Jean,” Armin mumbles into the boy in question's hip, “how far are you willing tonight?”

“Hmm? W-what do you mean?”

Armin crawls back up to kiss Jean briefly before whispering in his ear, quiet with traces of hesitant desperation.“Voglio sentire voi. Ho bisogno di te. Mi permetta di prendere il controllo.”

“Armin, I have _no idea_ what you're saying but, god, keep talking like that and you can do whatever you want to me, _fuck_.” He wraps his arms around Armin's back and needily whines as Armin hides his face against his shoulder.

“Talking like what? Non ho idea di cosa tu stia parlando, straniero bello.”

“Like _that!_ Don't hide behind those words. Just tell me what you want.”

Armin groans, still too shy to voice what he wanted in a way for Jean to understand. He needs this though, wants it so badly. It's obvious to see that Jean wants it too, eyes wide and breath coming fast. Armin whispers his intent very quietly into Jean's ear, like it's a secret. Jean laughs and just ruffles Armin's hair, causing the timid boy to scowl and hide his face away again.

“Of course I want to fuck you, are you kidding? Sorry I'm not as eloquent and not too be crude about it, but I thought that was the whole point of you dragging me in here?” Jean kisses Armin again and again, hot and insistent.

“I did not want to assume. We only just met,” Armin whispers between breaths. “I did hope you wanted me though.”

Jean lifts Armin's chin slowly and took in the sight of the other, eyes lidded but cast down. What was he so scared of, this boy who he'd met dancing on a table above the crowds. This boy who casually strolled through palaces and spoke with such certainty among priceless masterpieces.

“Armin,” he sighed deep and sure, “you have no idea how badly I want you right now. No idea.”

“Anch'io, amante. But promise you won't run away from me after?”

“I fucking promise, alright?” Jean sighs against his mouth, shifting his hips against Armin's. “Don't worry.”

It was enough for both of them and all the weirdness and hesitation in the room lifts away as they collide, kissing sloppy and rough with voices loud. They trade half-formed words and desperate noises in two different languages, whispers like motionless wind in the still room. Legs tangle together as they shift and thrust uncoordinated against each other, too lost to care about finding any sort of suitable rhythm. Armin can hear Jean's heartbeat as he mouths down Jean's chest, lingering as he listens to the fast, steady beat. Jean pulls him back up to bite at his lips and grasp at his shoulders, unwilling to let too much distance stray between their mouths.

Armin slows down from the frenzy and reaches for the small bottle and string of condoms hopefully still conveniently placed under his mattress. He gropes around under the bed for these relics of a so far unsuccessful summer, a hope of filling his nights with these sorts of distractions, but rarely followed through. He finds what he's looking for under the mattress and kisses Jean hard, leaving behind his hesitation.

In the beginning they felt like they were in some sort of rush to the end. Now, touches were slow and careful, delicate before the fall. And fall they do.

Jean watches with mouth agape as Armin rises on his knees above him, bent over slightly as he works a slick finger inside himself. His face is a gentle grimace, but slowly melts into pleasure as he stretches himself and finds that spot deep inside. Jean bites his lip and strokes himself as he watches the obscene sight before him, trying his best to maintain his control. With every soft sigh and strained grunt that slips past Armin's lips, Jean feels that pull from the core of him. He squeezes the base of his dick and pleads with Armin to hurry, far beyond feeling shame at the begging he has been reduced to.

Armin thrusts those quick fingers into himself only a few more times before slumping forward with muttered curses in two languages. He fumbles around for a condom and that little bottle and shoves it into Jean's free hand, own legs beginning to shake in anticipation.

“Messo su, I'm ready. I need you now Jean,non più parole.” Jean rolls the condom on himself with urgency and reaches for Armin's thighs, bracketing his own. Armin bats his hand away and positions himself, sinking slow as sin down Jean's length. He moans obscenely at the burn and Jean makes a loud, choked noise himself.

Jean could barely hold back as that tight heat envelopes him. He forces himself to lie still until Armin was adjusted and ready to move. He runs a hand down the smooth expanse of skin hovering over him, long fingers splaying over that smooth chest, so hot to the touch. Armin gently lifts up on his shins, pulling off slightly before sinking back down. Both cried out as the motion was repeated again and again. Neither wanted to hold back any more.

Hips rolled and met in a slow rhythm as they grind against one another, blinding white spreading behind eyes clenched shut hard. Jean sat up from the bed, unable to maintain the distance between their lips any longer. They were connected as about as close as people could be, but it still wasn't enough. He was enthralled with this boy, bouncing in his lap with nails digging into his chest. He leaned forward to kiss open mouthed and messy, biting at swollen, spit slicked lips as best they could as hips bucked and breaths panted.

Jean could feel Armin slowing in pace, thighs losing strength the more he slammed back down over and over again. He wrapped his arms around Jean's neck and held on for the ride as Jean gripped his hips and continued thrusting upwards, aroused even further, if that was possible at this point, by the persistent sound of skin against skin. The angle was getting difficult with Armin boneless and breathless against him. He eased him off his cock for a fleeting moment before shoving the boy backwards to lie on his back.

He descended on him fast, pushing into Armin hard and insistent. The surprised, pitched noise Armin made thrilled him, giving him cause to move faster, deeper. While he never wanted to let this feeling end, god he wanted to fucking come so badly by this point. Armin seemed to feel the same as he stroked himself in time with the hand that wasn't gripping his sheets hard, back arching just slightly with his remaining strength. Jean wiped at the sweat on his forehead and groaned harshly at the sight below, golden hair fanned across the sheets and face serene in a breathless, silent scream.

Jean follows shortly after and slowly pulls out from the gorgeous rag doll sprawled under him. He collapses against Armin, smiling at the soft whispers of Italian murmured against his shoulder. Neither boy could feel their legs and there was no way they were moving from their position. Legs tangle as they shift enough to get comfortable, slipping heavily into sleep.

\- - - - - - 

The sun its bright and demanding in the morning, charging through the open curtains as Jean rolls over to the warm dip in the bed beside him. He calls for Armin in a muffled voice against the sheets, hoping he hasn't been abandoned in this castle. Armin seemed so worried about Jean deserting him in the middle of the night but it appeared that he'd fallen victim to it instead. No, that made no sense. The bed is still warm where Armin probably rose from minutes before.

Armin darts in through a door across the room shortly after, a sheet wrapped messily around him. He smiles soft and bright at Jean sprawled on his bed. He loves the sight. But he still wants to run. It is time to convince this boy to run with him, and convince himself to take that final plunge and go. His reign over that nightly high life was over.

“Buona. You are awake.”

In not enough time to process the morning and adjust to the sunlight, Jean found himself strolling along a canal a few blocks away with Armin by his side. They walk quietly together along the calm water and watched the people beginning to set up their stands for the day, artists and food cart vendors alike. A man caught sight of Armin at one point and rushed over to shake Armin's hand. Jean stood transfixed as they exchanged rapid Italian. He only understands portions, something about Armin's grandfather and passing along a word to get him in touch with the man.

The conversation only left Jean with more questions as the two young men continue their leisurely stroll. Shyly, Armin slipped his hand into Jean's, finally making a bold move after their unsure lingering near each other since waking up and leaving the mansion earlier. They reach a place with steps leading down to the water of the canal and sit. Armin slips his shoes off and eases his feet into the cool water, laughing as a stray fish swims between them. He removes the white straw hat he'd been wearing and shakes his still sleep-messy hair.

Another passerby yells a 'buon giorno, signore' to Armin, going so far as to tip his hat in respect. Jean gapes as Armin waves to acknowledge the man. Everyone seems to know this boy.

“Who _are_ you?” Jean blurted out. Armin rolls his eyes as if it was nothing, a common tidbit of knowledge that doesn't even matter. And to him, it doesn't And this is why his legs long to run.

“Well. My grandfather is important man.”

“Seems like it. But what about you?”

“Me? Just Armin. That is the problem. Everyone says, “ah, grandson di signore Arlert. Such great things for him. What luck his family has. And so I must leave.”

Jean could read between the lines. Maybe not quite to the same extent, but he knew all about running from a family, from a past out of his control.

“Where do you want to go? And do?”

“Not here. Anywhere. And I write.”

“You write?”

“Si, much time spent but, uh, I can not find the words? Too much nothing here, I think maybe.”

“Well what are you trying to say?”

Jean nudges his shoulder in comfort. He misses that smile that captivated him the night before and lit up the room that morning. He took a chance and presses a kiss to Armin's cheek, lingering when the boy leans into him with a happy sigh. Armin pauses and smiles sadly at his fingertips, drumming them against each other with a softness that he tries to express with a glance. “Just. I am trying to find the beauty. Meaning. I don't know. Non capisco esattamente and _there_ is mi problemo.”

“This is supposed to be one of the most beautiful places, though. The art. The history. Everything! You live here. So, you know.”

“But Jean, you are traveling! You are from America. I never leave Rome. Not since baby in Naples and that is only a train ride away. Why? Why am I stuck here?”

Jean answers almost too quickly, like the words have been waiting to jump out since the notion had entered his mind hours and hours earlier when they lie tangled around each other in the early hours of the morning. “You could come with me.” Armin laughs and shies away. He's also thought of that idea but actually hearing it aloud makes him feel silly. “No, I'm serious. Come to America with me. Do something crazy, man."

He knew that he certainly did the night before.

The morning sun beats down hot on the two men, so eager to take on the world. Armin kicks gently at the water and turns to kiss Jean fully on the lips, so sweet and so sure.

Jean is selfish. He knows he has to leave Italy in a few weeks but Armin has to stay. He doesn't want to think about that, but that's reality. Does it have to be? There is hope in their eyes and on the horizon. He knows full well how sudden and impulsive this is, but there is something about this boy, something he refuses to let slip away to the breeze of the city. It's something he wants to keep for himself after searching for _something_ for so long.

It is almost too perfect. He's been lost forever and finally, finally he feels like he has been found. The opposite is true for Armin. He wants to break from the trance and lose the stasis of this lifestyle. He wants to run.

“I dream the same dream. I want to go. But my grandfather...”

Jean won't let that bright boy fade again, however brief. He stands up and pulls Armin with him, stirring the water as he leaves the steps. “Screw him. Screw everything! We're adults, we can do this. We're-”

Armin puts his shoes back on with determination, legs ready to flee once more.“You know? Si. _Yes_. We run away!” Jean laughs wildly and starts to pull Armin down the pathway. “Wait, wait! Not so much run, but let's go. Now, so much I want to.”

“Then let's go,” Jean repeats.

Armin wraps his arms around the taller boy and lets Jean spin them around with abandoned concern for the quiet calm of the morning. He wants to tip every stand set up into the canal to crash and disturb the still water as he screams to the sky. But he doesn't. He kisses Jean one more time before the two hurry along the canal. Jean ruffles Armin's golden hair before shoving that hat back down with cascades of laughter.

They walk, not run, with expressive hands and excited chatter as they plan their escape together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> how was that for some pretentious italian cinema inspired rambling mixed with a dash of porn? seriously, i ripped a bunch of stuff from that movie and had my way with it. it's a good movie. watch it. fond, cheesy eye-rolling and genuine appreciation for that film. 
> 
> here's the trailer for ["The Great Beauty"](http://www.nytimes.com/movies/movie/471150/The-Great-Beauty/trailers). it's a really good movie.  
> also, [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lViucKC9Yas) was featured in the club scenes from the film and the same is true for this story
> 
> [main tumblr](http://theghostbusters.tumblr.com/) & [snk only](http://aarlertarmin.tumblr.com/).


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